This road, this language, this time.
Reasonable hopes and reams freed from time, freed from fragmentation, freed from structure, in One more than One, and therein lies freedom. Someone hit language on repeat. Throw language into the void. A landless continental shift somewhere in between a festival of alien Being. Disintegration of the time based complex if only the world could hold one’s hand in this last breath: a congregation of frequency holders dis-identified with time. An empire within, the Aeneid awakens without love.
A god recedes without time, an endless communion with pain, a wolf roaming, balancing, teetering on the ledge in between worlds to let go and abandon a stream of mind, of thought, the continental free fall of entire worlds.